Whatever The Cost . . .

The road home winds through miles of farms with cows, and freshly-plowed and fertilized fields. The aroma of manure, damp earth, and alfalfa fill my senses. The smells remind me of my childhood, a pinto named Sparkle, and the Gaskel family. They ran a farm nearby, and my parents would drive over to visit on Sunday afternoons. We would play in the stable, or in the house with Bobby and Patty, their kids, while the adults talked in the kitchen. The sweet odor of Sparkle’s hide and tack returns to my memory as I drive into the hovering dusk.